


ecdysis

by letbygones



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Canon, Relationship Anxiety, This is more poetry than prose tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letbygones/pseuds/letbygones
Summary: the process of shedding one's skin.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	ecdysis

"When's the last time you had hot coffee?"

He asks you from the kitchen, lights on, electric buzzing.

His butt's up on the counter while he watches you. His blue eyes look bluer when they're framed by those bags— tired splotches that you know you're wearing too, you all are, you haven't slept in days—

But his hands pass you a cup of Folger's, nothing fancy. Nothing worth treasuring, if life had been kinder to you. It's warm in your hands, which are still bandaged after trying to pry open metal with your fingernails. You'd only succeeded in smearing your blood on the centrifuge doors and losing your voice for a day or two. You'd been pulled away from the faces you knew by arms that told you to _stop,_ Lio, 

stop.

So you did, because you couldn't do anything after that.

You'd found yourself weak and tired and smaller than usual, and those arms guided you through blurry crowds of colors wearing leather shoes and press badges. You'd found yourself handcuffed to your hospital bed, under sorry excuses for sheets that didn't warm you, _couldn't_ warm you.

Your mouth said words to people who didn't deserve to hear them— people who told you they were federal investigators, or human rights' activists, or friends, Lio, they're _friends_ , _I work with them at the station_.

Your mouth said words to people who didn't deserve to hear them, like Galo, who'd only been trying to help.

You apologized.

Ten days later, it's not enough. 

So you accept his favorite mug in your hands, and you sip his Folger's coffee, because you want to make him feel appreciated. You want him to know the things you'd said when you were falling apart were things you'd regret forever.

_It's warm._

And damn, he's right. It's a good question. When was the last time you had hot coffee— the real stuff, not the instant kind you'd pilfered off the back of distribution trucks?

When's the last time you stood in a kitchen in your underwear? 

Galo's smiling at you, because you made a noise of pure delight. It's coffee. It's fresh, and it's hot, and it helps the soreness in your chest fade away, if only for a second.

When's the last time you felt safe? Felt tired enough to sleep, and unafraid to do so?

When's the last time you looked at somebody and felt... relief?

Remorse?

He's taller than you, but everyone is. He's smart and he's patient, when he wants to be. He looks you in the eye— always has, since the day you met him— and you know he understands what you're feeling.

You don't want him to, but he does.

A year passes.

When's the last time you were afraid to lose something?

Not because you're on the run. You'd expected to lose things then. You wouldn't fucking kid yourself— people would disappear, or die, and you'd have to be prepared for it. You didn't fear anything then, because fear was useless.

Worrying never saved anyone.

But now, a year and a lifetime later, you can't seem to shut off your brain's anxiety center. You watch him when he sleeps; he passes out on you after long shifts, or while watching movies on the couch. He cooks you dinner (because, okay, you're awful at that), and he makes sure you eat the leftovers, too. He gets his stupid hair in your mouth whether he's home to do that or not— you find it in your food, or on your clothes, or on your blankets, even though you sleep alone in the living room.

He doesn't want you to keep doing that, though.

He told you that after you'd shared a smoothie and showed him where you hide your burn scars.

You think you love each other.

God, when's the last time you kissed someone and felt fear? When's the last time you felt suspended in a moment, sweaty hands on your hips, hot breath on your mouth, and felt joy— felt _sorry_ for yourself?

When's the last time— if ever, in your life at all— that you've been _afraid_ of someone thinking you're a monster?

You've always been okay with that. You've always been fine with that.

Why are you afraid, now?

And,

when's the last time you felt hopeless— stretched out, naked arms above you, opening yourself up for someone who you know will never let you go, in a good way?

In a way you want?

When's the last time you felt ashamed for quitting jobs you hated, and felt sorry for burning bridges? It's a habit you remember having even as a teenager— even before you'd felt the Promare's fire in your lungs. 

You've always been fine with telling managers to fuck off. You've always been fine with self-destruction, as long as it never burdened any bystanders. Secretly, you've always _liked_ creating your own dead ends, because it gave you a choice. It gave you control.

It reminded you that any time you wanted to, you could leave.

But now, you kiss him, and you sleep in his bed,

and you know that if he wanted to,

he could leave too.

And that's okay.

But it's not okay.

You wish you were back in the kitchen, lights buzzing, drinking coffee. You wish you'd told him thank you, and you know you should've left a few days after that. 

But you stayed a year, and you'll stay another year too, maybe. 

He's something that scares you. He's golden and breakable and temporary, but he's stronger than your flames ever were. He's righteous and he's kind: two things you hope you are too. You're certainly trying to be.

Galo gives you the good pillow. 

He wraps his heavy arms around you, and you feel his heart beating against your back. He tells you _goodnight, Lio._ You answer _'night, Galo._

And you're grateful.

Terrified.

Grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I miss my partner so I projected my gay feelings onto anime characters again


End file.
